


Wizartists

by hazelandglasz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Magical Artifacts, Painting, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:46:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When portraits are delivered to the mourning families of the Heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts, some hang them on the wall immediately, some wait a while<br/>And in some cases, the portraits themselves make them wait</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wizartists

**Author's Note:**

> I combined my idea on Magical paintings and a discussion I had with a good friend over Tumblr about the Weasley twins post-BOH  
> This is my first Harry Potter fic (can't believe that it is though)

After the Battle of Hogwarts, many students decide to go to different European Art schools.

Some inspired by the “wizartists” who flocked to the Castle to restore and counsel the damaged paintings, and some willing to fill the world with beauty and Life where there was only grief and desperation.

Sure enough, after a handful of years, spent in training to learn how to bend the Philosopher’s Stone powder to their will and to their own casting of Reenervate spells, paintings start arriving in Wizarding homes—families who had lost someone in the War.

The Potter house receive portraits of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, and the small canvases are immediately put on the walls of the nursery, next to Harry’s parents picture and the many drawings—non-magical ones—drawn by the kids as the years go by.

The thing about those paintings is that the wizartists make them big enough to be at a real-life scale, but small enough that they can be stored somewhere, to let each family decide when the pain of the loss is overcome by the joy of the memories shared with the departed.

For a while, Fred Weasley’s portrait stays in the attic of the Burrow, keeping company to the family Ghoul.

Until Molly climbs the stairs and smiles at her son—who immediately points her white hair with a crooked smirk.

There is another portrait of Fred Weasley that is delivered somewhere else. It arrives in Diagon Alley a morning, and George doesn’t take the time to think about it, putting his brother’s portrait in the place of honor in the store.

But for a while, the portrait remains empty—Fred inhabits the canvas, that much is obvious by the mess he leaves behind him, but whenever Georges is around, all you can see of him is the hem of his cloak.

Ron swears to Georges that he sees Fred, regularly even, and Georges tries to understand why Fred refuses to see him, let alone talk to him.

Harry comes to the shop, urging Georges to take a walk before chatting with Fred—who starts by talking his ear off for never admitting that he knew who were Prongs and Wormtail and Padfoot and Moony.

When Harry joins Georges at Florean’s parlor, he doesn’t speak, for a while, just smiling at his friend.

Georges hates that smile, it’s too sad and pitiful for his liking.

"So, what did the other idiot have to say for himself?" he asks, taking a spoonful of his pumpkin granita.

Harry smiles at Florean as the ice maker serves him a cup of apple sherbet before returning his eyes to his brother in anything but blood.

"He didn’t want to make you sad," he says softly and Georges freezes. "He said, and I quote, that you wouldn’t be able to look from his handsome, handsome face."

That does sound like Fred, and Georges can’t help the snorted laugh that comes out of him.

Harry puts his spoon down and gives Georges a serious look. “Seriously, though, Georgie,” he continues, “I know how it can be, to be able to look at something you miss so much you want to tear your head out.”

Georges cocks his head to the side, frowning at the Boy who Lived—to be a cryptic pain in the ass, or so it seems.

"The Mirror of Erised," Harry clarifies and Georges—yeah, he can see how the two elements are related.

"So, you’re saying I’m not ready to see Fred in a … healthy and peaceful way?"

Harry pats his hand before standing up. “You should go and see Padma, I’ve told you a thousand times,” he tells Georges and the businessman rolls his eyes.

He does not need a therapist.

Harry bids his farewell, claiming that he promised Lily to be home to help her with a gingerbread house, and Georges promises to come on Sunday for a late brunch.

As he stays alone at his table, he doesn’t see Angelina entering the store with their little devils.

He doesn’t see Angelina joining Ron on the balcony of the store while Fred and Roxanne run to the portrait, as they always do, to chat with their uncle.

He doesn’t see Fred giving his namesake and his niece pieces of advice on how to tease him to maximum effect, and he doesn’t see the way Fred’s face lights up inside his frame when Hermione, obviously coming out of work, brings Hugo with her.

Because Hugo is practically Fred’s clone, down to the pattern of freckles on his nose.

No, Georges doesn’t see all of that, and when he returns to the store, all he sees is an empty canvas.

But at some point, in the future, when Fred’s jokes, told by the whole family, make him smile more than they make him cry, Fred will wait for him to catch up.


End file.
